


white lines, pretty daddy

by noctiphany



Series: little beasts [93]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 01:10:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21027794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctiphany/pseuds/noctiphany
Summary: “Bruce,” Dick says, standing on his tiptoes on the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge, cell phone pressed to his ear. “Can I come home?”





	white lines, pretty daddy

**Author's Note:**

> The suicidal thoughts/ideation is really only if you squint REALLY HARD. But you know, safety first.

“You’re kinda like him, you know,” Dick says one night, taking his mouth off of M’s cock for at least the fifth time in the last half hour. M has neither the patience nor the motivation to ask what the fuck he’s talking about this time, he just needs that mouth back on him. “My - well - “ Dick giggles, slurps at M’s cock. “He’s kinda like my Dad, I guess? I mean. I killed my real parents and then _ he _ found me and it was --”   
  
He trails off and it’s weird, maybe, but M doesn’t care because he’s deepthroating him like there’s no tomorrow, drool running down his chin, down M’s cock, and before he can catch up with all of it’s he’s shouting and coming down the kid’s throat, so hard he nearly blacks out. 

: : : 

  
“It was kinda like a family,” Dick says a little while later. He was supposed to be gone when M got out of the shower but he’s still _ here. _He’s always fucking here lately. Like a cockroach. 

Like a kid with nowhere else to go because no one else will play with him. 

“Yeah,” M says, grabbing a beer out of the fridge. Absentmindedly, he grabs a soda for Dick, tosses it to him. “A murder family.”

Dick grins as he pops the tab open. “Everyone does family bonding time differently, M. What did yours do? Oh, I bet you went fishing. You look like a fisher. Fishman? Fisherman.” 

M blinks a couple of times, trying to decide if this is actually his reality for like, the thousandth time. 

“Yeah, we bonded,” he says, taking a swig of his beer. “His fist bonded with my face all the time.”

Dick frowns, crawls across the couch and climbs into M’s lap like it’s his property now. _ It’s free real estate, _ he’d said once, and M still doesn’t get why it was so funny. “See? That’s the kind of thing _ we _ help people with.” 

M rolls his eyes, takes another pull from the bottle. He’d try to get Dick out of his lap, but last time he attempted that he just ended up with his cock inside of him again. And he’s really trying to stop doing that. Really. _ Really. _

“The fuck do you keep bringing up your _ family _ for anyway? Like I’m not going to throw the whole bunch of you in federal soon as I get the chance. You know you’re not going to be with them, right? They’ll keep you separated.” 

“Do you really think he’d let that happen?” Dick smiles back and it’s not his usual grin or cocky smirk, it’s genuine, and it’s fucking _ terrifying. _“He loves us, M.” 

M laughs. Oh god, does he laugh.

“No, sweetheart,” he says, patronizing, reaching out to touch Dick’s cheek. “One day he’s going to let you take the fall for him. I’ve seen men like that my entire career, Dick. He’s _ going _to screw you.” 

Dick’s eyes go scary lifeless and cold for a moment, then he’s grinning again, squirming in M’s lap like he has a mission. “You think he hasn’t already?” 

“Ah,” M says. “Color me surprised, the psycho firebug has daddy issues.” 

Dick’s brows furrow together, his nose scrunched up. It’s cute as fuck. M _ hates _himself. “Ew,” Dick says. “Pervert.” 

M laughs, genuinely, and throws the kid off of him. “I need another damn beer,” he says, “Hey, do you want to --” but when he turns back around, the window’s open and Grayson is gone. 

  


: : : 

  


“Bruce,” Dick says, standing on his tiptoes on the edge of the Brooklyn Bridge, cell phone pressed to his ear. “Can I come home?” 

It’s a stupid question, but Dick’s popped so many pills he hardly know what century he’s in. He just stopped in the middle of the bridge, parked the car, and walked to the ledge. The water was pretty up here. Well, not really, but it could be, if he tried hard enough. But he never tried hard enough. That was the whole problem, wasn’t it. He was never good enough, so Bruce had to keep replacing him. 

It’s a stupid question because Bruce never said he _ couldn’t _come home. Dick could drive to the manor now, let himself in, do a line of coke on the dining room table and eat everything in the fridge before passing out on any of the beds in the place. But it’s not the same. Not anymore. There’s a new kid now, another replacement, another young, pretty thing for Bruce to fuck until he has his fill and moves on to someone else. 

_ He’s going to screw you _

Dick hears a giggle on the other end of the line, high pitched and familiar, then Bruce’s gravely voice mutters something, muffled, like he put his hand over the speaker. 

“Wayne,” he says, answering the phone the way he does for...anyone else. For Dick, it had always been, “Are you okay?” or “What do you need?” or “Was that fire you?” 

Dick stares at the phone like he doesn’t understand how it works, holds his arm out, and drops it into the river. He thinks about chasing after it, but doesn’t. It’s too fucking cold to go swimming this time of year. 

  


: : :

  


M knows something is up with him. He hates that he knows something’s up with him, but that doesn’t change the fact that he does. For one, the kid is _ kissing _ him, which he hardly ever does, unless he’s coked up to the eyeball or hasn’t set fire to something in a few days. But it’s not even like that. It’s not sharp and biting like it is then. This time he’s got his hands on M’s face and he’s frantic, desperate, breathing like he’s about to have a goddamn panic attack. 

“The fuck,” M mutters, finally pulling Grayson off of him, but the kid just looks at him and shoves him down on the bed, gets on his knees and swallows M down until M can feel his throat open up around him. “Jesus _ christ. _”

He fucks Dick’s mouth until he goes limp and pliable, just letting M use his mouth as a hole and nothing else, and it’s --

Unsettling, a little. M’s not concerned, exactly, it’s just _ weird. _He pulls out and brushes some of Dick’s hair off his sweaty forehead, grabs his chin between his fingers. 

“Talk to me,” he says. It’s just one of the many things he gets to add to his list of Ways I Fucked Up This Week when he sees Apollo next. At least, he thinks, it might make Apollo laugh. 

Dick just shakes his head, petulant, like a child and says, “No.” Shucking his jeans off, then his shirt, crawling on the bed and getting on his hands on knees. “Just fuck me. Please. Just --”

M pushes inside of him fairly easy. His cock was covered in spit and precome and it drags a little against Dick’s hole, but after he’s in, it’s good. It’s _ always _ good. M can say a lot of things about the kid: psycho, lunatic, asshole, completely inept at cooking, but this. This he can’t say a single negative thing about. When he’s inside of Grayson, it’s like everything makes sense again. He can breathe. It doesn’t matter anymore who he is or what he’s done, doesn’t matter how bad M’s fucked up, all that really matters is getting him to scream his name. To make Grayson feel as out of control as he makes _ him _feel. 

“Christ, you feel fucking good,” he groans, squeezing Grayson’s ass in his hands, digging his fingers into the meat. He doesn’t remember when he stopped denying that he enjoys this. Probably after the first time the kid licked his cock like a lollipop for what felt like hours and made him come just from that, getting it all over his face and grinning like a kid in a candy store. 

M yanks him up, arm around Dick’s chest, pinning him there, back to M’s front, keeps fucking him. He’s eerily quiet today, which is again, fucking _ weird. _

"What’s up with you,” M growls low next to his ear, reaching around to get his hand around him, just barely holding it there, not even stroking yet. “What are you so fucking quiet for, huh?”

He racks his brain and can only come up with one other time that the kid was remotely like this, and --

Oh. 

_ He doesn’t even -- what does he need /another/ guy for anyway? Are we not enough? You think we’re good enough, don’t you, M? _

M thinks he gets it now. He thinks he knows what Dick needs.

He slides his hand up Dick’s chest, cupping it around his throat, squeezing, squeezing, until Dick whines for him. 

“Please,” he gasps out when M finally releases his grip, body going limp against his own. M reaches around and gets his hand on him again, starts stroking him slowly, teasingly. 

“Please what, baby?” 

“_Daddy_,” Dick moans, head tilted back onto M’s shoulder, turning his face into M’s throat as he spills all over his hand.   
  
M does not murmur _good boy_ into the sweat-salty skin on the side of Dick's throat as he comes inside of him. 

He doesn't and he'll take it to his fucking grave.

  


: : :

  


“I fucking hate jello,” Apollo says. “I hate it. I hate the wallpaper and I hate the jello. Everything else is fine. Except, haha, it’s not.” 

M reaches out and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s growing, just a little bit, and it looks good. Reminds M a little of things before they went to complete shit. He misses that time, but he’s starting to realize that’s what it was, just a time when things were different. There’s no going back. Not anymore. 

“Baby, I need you to know,” he says to Apollo. “I --

“Don’t want to stop fucking the crazy kid,” Apollo says, poking at the cube of jello on his plate. It used to infuriate M, the way he could do that. It might infuriate him even more now, because Apollo doesn’t even _ know. _ He’s got no idea how many nights Grayson’s snuck into his apartment, how many times they’ve shared a pineapple and pepperoni pizza, how he knows what the kid’s shampoo smells like, how there’s a t-shirt at his house right now, a box of cereal that M would never fucking buy. He doesn’t --   
  
“You can’t hide anything from me,” Apollo says, then looks up at M, smirking. “Daddy?”

“Ah,” M says, fury boiling in his veins. The kid saw Apollo again. The kid is telling Apollo about things he really fucking should not be telling him. “I’m actually going to kill him.”

Apollo just leans in and kisses his cheek. 

“No you won’t.” . 


End file.
